


The Everlasting Gaze

by narcissablaxk



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Braime - Freeform, Brienne is a kickboxing instructor, Canon Divergent, College AU, F/F, F/M, Modern AU, Non-Con is more in reference to harassment than any rape, Redeemed Jaime, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-02-09 21:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: He didn’t mention her again, even when Tyrion brought back another beer and looked at him curiously, as if he expected the conversation to continue. Mentioning her made Jaime feel like hehadto defend his actions, defend why he chose to speak to her at all.But what he couldn’t say was that feeling of inevitability in his chest. He couldn’tnotspeak to her. What the consequences would be if he abstained, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t bear to find out.Curious.A College AU where everyone grows as people and no one dies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This chapter is full of short pieces, but it's mostly to just introduce everyone. Also Jaime is a little bit of a dick in this, and purposefully so. He will grow with time, be patient with him.

Brienne loved the early morning; she had been a naturally early riser since she was a child and not even high school, with its rigors and extracurricular activities, had swayed her from her habit. College, even, did not deter her from rising, like clockwork, at 5:30 every morning. With roommates that did not even stir until at least 11, she would dress in the dark, grab a cup of coffee, and slip out the door to sit on the tiny, cramped balcony, staring out at the jet exhaust-shaped clouds, painted cotton candy pink and soft orange with the light of dawn. 

Once her cup was empty, she would venture back inside to rinse it out in the shared bathroom sink, somehow both too energized and too lazy to walk all the way down to the first floor to use the kitchen. Going into the hallway, where she could see the rare other person, where she could be seen in turn, would ruin the spell of the morning, and she liked to keep it intact as long as possible. 

Inevitably, though, the spell would have to be broken, but Brienne would often break it by going for a run before it got too hot outside. At least this way she could see people without having to say anything to them, without the burden of propriety. 

She liked having control over her interactions with people. She enjoyed slowly immersing herself in the public, like a cautious walk into a cold body of water. Once the day truly began, Brienne could no longer control who saw her, who spoke to her, and what they would say. She only had a couple of hours where that power belonged solely to her. 

And when it left, she keenly felt its absence. 

Half an hour and almost five miles later, Brienne unhooked her headphones and slipped into her dorm, careful to turn down her music so her roommates could sleep on. Margaery was buried beneath a pile of silky, fluffy blankets and pillows, her long dark hair just barely peeking out of the pile. Dany was, as usual, surrounded by her white blonde hair, her blankets the same color, giving her the appearance of drowning in her abundant braids.

Brienne could just barely hear them quietly breathing. 

She smiled and shook her head before stepping into the bathroom to shower. 

***

“Did you wake up Arya?” Jon asked, brushing a curl off his forehead and leaving a streak of peanut butter behind. “She should have been up, like, half an hour ago.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes. “You know you don’t have to make her lunch, right? She actually likes eating those terrible school lunches.” 

Jon sighed heavily, looking down at the mangled peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of him. “So I suffered, _slaved_ over this kitchen, for nothing?” 

“If you take the peanut butter out of the fridge, it’ll spread easier,” Sansa replied, pulling her bag higher on her shoulder. 

“How am I supposed to know that?” Jon asked, exasperated. “I don’t even like peanut butter.” 

She smiled sympathetically at him. “Just give it to me, I’ll eat it for breakfast.” 

“Really?” Jon slapped the two torn pieces of bread together. 

“I kind of feel bad that you clearly spent a long time making this, as…unappetizing as it is,” Sansa remarked, grabbing a napkin and holding it out for the sandwich. Jon huffed at her but passed the sandwich over anyway, putting the top back on the peanut butter and definitively slamming it on the counter outside of the refrigerator. 

Sansa padded up the stairs, chewing the mangled sandwich pensively. Arya used to be an annoying little monster in every sense of the word – she would wake up hours earlier than everyone else and stomp around the house, slamming cabinets and doors and turning the television on as loud as it would go. It would rouse the entire house and the rest of the family would rise, varying degrees of grumpy, and it would take hours for the malaise to fade. 

Maybe it was high school or the loss of half of their family that seemed to cure her of that behavior. Now she would not only sleep as long as she could, but she would get creative to get more sleep. Sometimes Sansa would catch her sleeping on the bathroom floor with the door locked and the shower running so no one could wake her up again. 

It was getting, frankly, a little ingenious. 

“Arya?” she called, using her bare foot to push the bedroom door open. As predicted, Arya was still asleep, her face pressed determinedly against her pillow. She was dressed for school, with one sock halfway on. “Hey,” Sansa prodded, plopping onto the bed and poking her in the cheek. “Jon is about to come up here and tickle you awake.” 

“I’ve never been asleep a day in my life!” Arya jolted upward, panicked. 

Sansa smirked and tore off a piece of the sandwich, offering it to her sister. “You’re going to be late.” 

“Luckily, I’m already dressed,” Arya shrugged, taking the piece and shoving it into her mouth whole. “I have kickboxing after school,” she continued, her mouth full. “Will you pick me up at six?” 

“Walking to the gym by yourself?” Sansa asked. 

“It’s at the university,” Arya explained. “Two blocks isn’t far.” 

Sansa took another bite of the sandwich, this one full of jelly and no cold peanut butter at all. “Sure,” she said. “Text me to remind me.” 

“Alright,” Arya shrugged, pulling on her other sock the rest of the way and patting her short hair flat. 

***

“History class at 8 a.m. is…” Yara looked around the room, her eyes searching the empty seats. “Well, it’s intimate.” 

Tyrion, pulling his notebook out of his bag, chuckled. “No one can process all of the information this early in the morning.” 

“Except for us,” Yara countered, indicating herself, Tyrion, and the four or five other students in the classroom. 

“We the few,” Tyrion said mockingly. 

“We happy few,” Yara finished. 

***

“Brienne left a note for you on the mirror,” Margaery held out the little orange piece of paper to Dany, who was still sitting forlornly on her bed, as if the idea of getting up was insurmountable. 

“I don’t have my contacts on –”

“It says ‘don’t forget to eat breakfast,’” Margaery read, sticking the note to Dany’s bare foot, just barely sticking out of the blanket. “So…don’t forget.” 

“I’m sure there’s a note somewhere in here for you, too,” Dany retorted, falling back on her blankets. “Or a bagel, waiting in the little toaster oven.” 

Margaery flitted by, her towel fastened around her chest. “She’s just looking out for us,” she said, pulling open her drawer and pulling out something blue and lacy. “Now why don’t you go toast yourself a bagel before you get cranky?” 

“I’m not cranky!” Dany snapped, pulling the pillow over her face. 

Margaery shut the door to the bathroom and didn’t answer. 

***

“I heard you’re taking a kickboxing class now,” Gendry leaned against Arya’s unopened locker, watching her fumble with the lock. “Your brother let you do that?” 

“Why wouldn’t he?” Arya mumbled, twisting the lock angrily to start over. 

“Well,” Gendry gesticulated, just broadly enough that Arya glared at him. “I figured he wouldn’t want you learning how to fight, seeing as you’re…so small.” 

“Did you have something in particular to say or are you just going to be an asshole?” 

“Miss Stark! Language!” 

Gendry nudged her out of the way and took the lock in his hands, twisting it expertly while he spoke. “Look, picking on you is fun, you know, because that’s what we do –”

“I know that –”

He yanked the lock and it clicked open. “But I don’t think you’re taking this class for the right reasons.” 

“So I can kick ass?” Arya asked dryly. “What is the right reason?” 

“You know what I mean.” 

She pulled the locker open and blocked his face, focusing on rummaging through the mess. “I don’t.” 

“Your parents were killed –”

“And my brothers,” she finished, grabbing her chemistry book and slamming the locker closed. “What’s your point?” 

“You’re fixating –”

“What else am I supposed to do?” she asked, pushing past the bystanders in the hallway to put distance between herself and Gendry’s irritating concern. Still, he followed, undeterred. 

“Mourn,” he said simply. “Get angry, that’s fine. But eventually, you have to let go of that anger.” 

“Not today,” she mumbled. 

***

Jaime cast his eyes about the crowded gym floor, looking for a familiar face. Truthfully, there were many here, but none he cared to actually speak to. He can see, in the mirror, Bronn doing deadlifts, Lancel on the stationary bike. He averts his eyes from both and goes to a treadmill. Cardio is his least favorite, but if he put something good on the television, he’d be okay for a forty minute run. 

There’s one treadmill open, facing the clear walls of one of the rooms, this one full of mostly women, standing in front of a tall, broad blonde woman, dressed in a blue tight set. In the front row is a small girl, her hair short and dark and a little dirty, watching the larger woman with rapt attention. 

“Ahh, the big woman is teaching today,” a gruff voice catches his attention, and Jaime gives the newcomer a sideways glance before busying himself with the buttons on the machine. “Magnificent, isn’t she?” 

Jaime glances up and around before he speaks. “Are – are you talking to me?” 

“Who else?” the man has fiery red hair, his eyes ice blue, and his beard is, to say the least, intimidatingly large. 

“I don’t know,” Jaime acknowledged, hitting the start button and tucking his headphones into his ears, hoping that will be enough of a nonverbal cue for the man to stop trying to talk to him.

It isn’t, and Jaime has to pull his headphones out of his ears a few moments later to ask the man to repeat himself. 

“I said, my name is Tormund,” he repeated. “You?” 

“Oh,” Jaime huffed, already not focused enough to last for forty minutes of this tedious conversation. “Jaime Lannister.” 

“Do you know the big woman?” Tormund asked, and Jaime has to hop up on the sides of the treadmill to face him. 

“I’m sure she has a name,” he said, and waits duly for Tormund to respond. When he doesn’t, he lifts himself above the moving platform and holds for a moment before dropping down, catching his stride almost immediately. 

He puts his headphones back in his ears but doesn’t play any music or turn on the small screen in front of him. Instead, he does what Tormund is doing – he watches the woman in front of the classroom. It takes him very little time to figure out she teaches kickboxing. She looks, when she’s just standing there, watching her pupils struggle, awkward and gangly and…admittedly, large. 

And then she goes to the front of the room and demonstrates a move, something relatively simple, and the way she moves is…smooth, almost dance-like. It’s clearly what she’s most comfortable doing, and Jaime spends the rest of his forty minutes trying not to watch.

He’s not successful. 

The class ends and still he observes, Tormund off of his treadmill and already forgotten. She lingered behind in the room, talking intimately with the small, dark haired girl he noticed before. The small one is red in the face, her hands tight in little fists. 

The larger woman doesn’t lower herself to girl’s level, doesn’t diminish her at all, but wraps her in a hug that cradles the back of the little girl’s head, and Jaime sees, again, her astonishing grace. 

And then someone opens the door, a man with greasy hair that he’s seen around the gym before, Ben, his name is, and barks something at her – Jaime can hear the sound, but not quite the words. The larger woman straightens up, a blush high on her cheekbones, and the little girl looks like she wants to lunge. The woman’s hand comes to rest on the girl’s shoulder and tightens, and Jaime presses the stop button on his treadmill. 

“ – your class ended twenty minutes ago, and I have been waiting to take over the room –”

“Why didn’t you just let me know we went over time?” the woman’s voice is not particularly feminine, but it is not quite masculine either, and Jaime paused in his approach to listen. “I would have been happy to –”

“It is your job to –”

“It’s her job to teach her students, not cater to you,” the little girl has a hard edge to her voice. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it.” 

“Arya,” the larger woman said firmly. “It’s fine, just ignore him.” 

“Yes, Arya,” the man mocked. “Listen to _Brienne the Beauty_.” 

The larger woman stiffens, her shoulders straight and taut. Jaime can see the muscles in her shoulders, exposed and defined. Arya lifted a hand and touched Brienne’s forearm gently. Brienne deflated and Arya lead her from the room. 

“You shouldn’t let him speak to you like that,” Arya said, her voice softer now that it’s just her and Brienne. “Every day, it’s the same problem.” 

“What else am I going to do?” Brienne asked, and Jaime decided, then, to talk to her. “He’s been like this for years, I can’t just –” they turn the corner and Brienne is taller than he realized, and Jaime is momentarily struck still, long enough that Brienne’s shoulder slams into his. 

“Oh, what now?!” she exclaimed, and Jaime is too stunned to say anything for a moment. “What, did Ben call you over to come harass me too?” she asked. 

Arya, beside her, is staring at Jaime with hard eyes. 

“No,” he said, his trademark swagger gone. She had seemed so kind a few moments before, but –

“Then what?” she asked. “You’re here to take another shot at _Brienne the Beauty_?” she says it with a twisted mouth, and Jaime realizes immediately that the name is meant to hurt her. And it does. 

“I – I wouldn’t call you that,” he said, and Brienne’s eyes flash and yet again, it’s the wrong thing to say. 

“Yeah, no one would,” she snapped, and pushed past him, the girl following close behind. 

“That’s not –” but she’s already almost out of earshot and he shouts, mostly involuntarily, “You know, you could be a beauty if you didn’t react that way.” 

Immediately, he recognizes his mistake. He just heard her defend herself to another belligerent man; of course she would be on edge. Why would she treat him well? She didn’t even know him. 

She turned on her heel to face him but doesn’t approach him. “Who said I wanted to be a beauty?” she snapped. 

It’s clearly a trap, but he falls into it anyway. “Clearly you do, or comments like that wouldn’t upset you so much.” 

She flushed again, and she’s so pale she likely can’t help it or hide it, but Jaime noted it all the same. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she said, her voice low and simmering with anger. 

“Then don’t,” he said. “I’m not asking you to.” 

“Then you’re just acting like a dick because?” Arya butts in, stepping forward far enough that Brienne’s hand falls on her shoulder. 

Jaime dropped his gaze to her, even though he desperately wants to see how Brienne is reacting to this young girl so adamantly defending her. “I guess…I guess that’s just how I am,” he said. 

“Then kindly go be a dick to someone else,” she replied, turning away from him and pulling Brienne with her. 

***

“She just ripped my head off!” Jaime explained, taking a sip of his beer. Tyrion, across from him, chuckles into the glass before downing the rest of his own. 

“Well, what did you expect?” Tyrion asked. “You ran into her –”

“She ran into _me_ ,” Jaime defended. 

“Right, sure, it’s all her fault,” Tyrion corrected himself. “And then you said some snide shit. You’re lucky she didn’t deck you.” 

Jaime frowned. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he muttered. 

“What were you going to say to her, anyway?” his brother asked. “’Hi, I saw you get harassed and like…bummer, dude.’”

“Something…something along those lines,” Jaime scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I just wanted to…I don’t know…” 

Tyrion raised his eyebrows, watching his brother struggle. “You didn’t have to get involved.” 

“I wanted to!” Jaime exclaimed. “You should have seen the way Ben was talking to her.” 

“And you made it worse!” Tyrion replied. “She didn’t need you to come save her.” 

“I wasn’t trying to,” Jaime defended. 

“You don’t know what you were trying to do,” Tyrion pointed out. “You were just…caught up in a woman –”

“Oh come on –”

“So you made an ass of yourself.” 

“I was not ‘caught up in a woman,’” Jaime protested. “You should see this woman. She’s huge.” 

“And I’m small,” Tyrion answered. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Jaime fell silent and considered the question. Tyrion watched him contemplate for a few moments before he stood. “I’m going to order another round,” he said. “I’ll leave you to your musings.” 

Jaime didn’t say anything, but watched his brother go. What was the big deal about this woman, anyway? Why did he decide to talk to her? She certainly didn’t need his defending, not with that little girl by her side. Clearly she didn’t even want him to talk to her in the first place. 

But he saw the way she stiffened when Ben called her “Brienne the Beauty.” It was an insult, and that, at least, in the entire conversation, shook her, enough that he could see the tears forming at the edges of her painfully blue eyes. 

He didn’t mention her again, even when Tyrion brought back another beer and looked at him curiously, as if he expected the conversation to continue. Mentioning her made Jaime feel like he _had_ to defend his actions, defend why he chose to speak to her at all. 

But what he couldn’t say was that feeling of inevitability in his chest. He couldn’t _not_ speak to her. What the consequences would be if he abstained, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t bear to find out. 

Curious.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More first meetings, featuring an appearance by Arya's teenage rebellion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I got excited and wrote this in one day. I probably won't do that very often, so please don't hold me to a high standard. Lol. This chapter also has a mention of roofies, so if you are triggered by that, please skip Jaime and Brienne's last conversation at the end of the chapter.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Margaery asked, pulling one of Brienne’s pillows against her chest and crossing her arms over it. “Or am I going to have to guess?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Brienne sighed, running her hands through her short blonde hair. 

“Something’s wrong,” Margaery insisted. “You’ve sat here for at least an hour. Unmoving. Aren’t you usually meal prepping in the dorm kitchen by now?” 

Brienne shrugged. She didn’t like to tell Margaery or Dany about evenings like todays, especially because they were both so beautiful already. They weren’t rude about it, of course, but Brienne didn’t like to bring attention to the clear difference between them. They were elegant, confident, beautiful. She was…well, she was just Brienne. Big, ugly, awkward Brienne. 

_Brienne the Beauty_ , the man’s voice came to her again, and she gritted her teeth. It was bad enough hearing it from Ben, given his past, but to hear it from a stranger was worse, somehow. 

“What are you thinking about?” Margaery asked gently, dropping her hand onto Brienne’s. Her nails were feminine and painted mint green, a gold ring around her fourth finger. Brienne’s own hand, underneath it, looked mannish and clumsy by comparison. 

“Ben was just…being an ass,” she relents finally, and Margaery settles herself deeper into Brienne’s bed to listen. “He tried to give me hell about keeping my class late –”

“Again?” 

“And then, when I left, I ran into this other guy, who just…got under my skin,” Brienne finished. 

“What did he say?” Margaery asked. 

“He…he pointed out that I wanted to be a beauty, or I wouldn’t be so angry when Ben called me –”

“You don’t have to repeat that awful name,” Margaery reassured her. “And this new man, he upset you?” 

“Well, he’s right!” Brienne exclaimed. “I do want to be a beauty.”

Margaery smiled softly. “Bri, you _are_ a beauty,” she said, so sincerely that Brienne almost believed her. “Anyone who doesn’t see that is blind.” 

“The world is blind,” Brienne muttered, falling back onto her bed. 

Margaery laughed for just a moment, through her nose. “You’re right,” she agreed. “Come on, get up, we’re going to the bar.” 

Brienne lifted her head just enough to see Margaery hop off her bed and cross to the closet. “No, we’re not.” 

“We are,” Margaery insisted. “You need to get out of your own head a bit. So, we are going to go to the bar, and you’re going to have a beer, or a cosmo, or whatever you like to drink, and we’re going to have fun.” She turned toward the door as Dany’s key scraped in the lock.

“Someone sounds determined,” Dany remarked, kicking the door closed, “what’s going on?” 

“We’re going to the bar,” Margaery said. 

“Well, thank God,” Dany groaned, pulling her braids out and fluffing her hair. “I have been dying for a drink since this morning.” 

Brienne watched her two roommates playfully bicker, trading jackets and laughing, their teeth white and shiny. She glanced down at herself, a ratty pair of jeans and a shirt torn just high enough to show off a strip of her toned stomach. Nothing like the beauty standing before her, blissfully unaware of their effect. 

“I don’t want to go,” she said again, and Margaery shot her a squinted gaze that told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was going, dammit, and she’d have fun when she did. 

***

“I’m not supposed to be in here,” Gendry muttered, sinking deeper into the booth. Yara, across from him, gave him a cheeky wink over the rim of her glass of rum. Tormund chuckled once and ignored him. 

“You’re the designated driver,” Yara pointed out. “If anything, you have every right to be here.” 

“I’m not even eighteen!” Gendry replied, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Yara raised her eyebrows. “You know, I already know that,” she said. “It’s kind of the bonus of taking you under my wing.” 

Tormund grunted an agreement. “I didn’t think being your guardian would be so much fun, but it really is.”

“Has it?” Gendry asked, a smile lingering at the corner of his mouth. “Because I seem to remember you complaining when I woke you up to drive me to school this morning.” 

“High school starts too early, and I stand by that,” Tormund grumbled. 

“It is still better than being in foster care,” Gendry pointed out, patting Tormund’s arm. “So…thanks.” 

“Are you going to get sappy on me, Gendry?” Yara asked. “Because we’re the ones drinking. We are the only ones allowed to get sappy.” 

“Duly noted, Mom.” 

“I am three years older than you –”

“Can someone get my mom another drink?” Gendry called. Yara laughed, grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him back to the seat while Tormund roared in laughter. 

“I’m going to get my own drink,” Yara snapped, sliding out of the booth and giving Gendry the finger. Gendry responded in kind and watched her saunter over to the bar and take an empty seat beside a girl wearing short denim shorts with long, white blonde hair. 

***

“See, it isn’t even that crowded,” Dany reassured Brienne, her hand tapping the table at the bar. “Three appletinis, please,” she called out to the bartender, who nodded and got to work. “You’ll like them, I promise,” she said to Brienne’s raised eyebrow. 

Brienne glanced around the bar, her eyes expertly sliding over all of the tables, both empty and occupied, before they landed on one in particular. “He’s here,” she muttered, turning around immediately and putting her head in her hands. 

“Who’s here?” Margaery asked, turning clear around to put her back to the bar. “Where?” 

“The guy I told you about,” Brienne said, her gaze directed firmly on the dark wood bar. “Four o’clock.” 

Margaery tentatively turned, her knees bumping into Brienne’s. “I don’t –”

“Not my four o’clock, your four o’clock,” Brienne couldn’t help the smile that slipped through. “Be smooth about it.” 

“I’m always smooth,” Margaery muttered. She shifted slightly in her chair to get a better view. Brienne stayed still, too mortified to look. “Oh, Bri, he’s cute. That’s unfortunate.” 

Brienne laughed, loud enough that Margaery laughed with her, turning back to the bar definitively. “If it helps, he looks like an asshole.” 

“Oh, good, so it wasn’t just me,” Brienne noted, nodding at the bartender as he slid the drinks over. 

“Dany, have you seen this guy?” Margaery asked, leaning over the bar to see Dany. “Dany?” 

“She’s talking to a girl,” Brienne murmured, sing-songy, to Margaery. 

“About time,” Margaery deadpanned, taking a sip of her drink. 

***

“You go to school at the university?” Yara asked, leaning against the bar instead of taking a seat. 

Dany nodded, pulling her drink toward her without actually drinking it. “You?” 

“History.” 

“Political science.” 

Yara made a face. “Oh, so we’re supposed to be rivals. I guess I shouldn’t talk to you anymore.” 

Dany smiled. “Perhaps you shouldn’t.” 

“Yara,” she extended her hand to shake. “Greyjoy.” 

“Dany,” she answered, shaking her hand definitively. 

“You don’t have a last name?” Yara asked, still holding her hand. 

“I do, it’s just hard to pronounce and I don’t like it much,” Dany replied. “So for now, my name is just Dany.” 

“Okay, just Dany,” Yara replied cheekily. “Can I get you your next round?” 

“As long as it isn’t that tepid beer you’re drinking,” Dany said, tapping the edge of the glass. 

“High maintenance?” 

Dany shrugged one shoulder. “No, I just have good taste.” 

***

Sansa stared up at the sign, the neon blinking against the darkness. “Winterfell,” it read, in ice blue letters. She rolled her eyes and pushed the door open. She didn’t care for bars, and she certainly didn’t care to be there doing this. 

She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose against the smell of beer and glanced around the room, looking for one head of short cropped dark hair. She found it in a booth against the wall, and stomped up, loud enough that he had fair warning before she started speaking. 

“Where is she?” she asked coldly. The big redheaded man beside Gendry jumped, looking alarmed, and looked her over appreciatively. 

“I like your hair,” he said, almost meekly. “Kissed by fire.” 

“Thank you,” she replied coolly before turning her gaze back to Gendry. “Where is Arya?” 

Gendry furrowed his brow. “I – I don’t know. Why would I know?” 

“Because you’re her friend, and when I tried to pick her up at the gym today, she said she was going to do something and she’d be home by eight, but it’s now ten, and she’s not home. So where would she go?” 

“I don’t know!” Gendry exclaimed. “I haven’t seen her since school.” 

“Text her,” Sansa demanded. “Call her, I don’t care, but find out where she is.” 

While Gendry fumbled for his phone, Sansa realized that the bar had fallen conspicuously silent. She glanced around the room, unsurprised to see that most of the patrons were looking at her. She pursed her lips in a thin line and turned her back on them to better focus on Gendry. 

“I texted her,” he said. “I’ll give her a minute and if she doesn’t respond, I’ll call her.” 

“Would you like a drink?” the redheaded man asked. 

“No, I would not like a drink,” Sansa snapped. “I want my sister.” 

“Hi, sorry to interrupt, but I heard you were looking for your sister,” a brunette girl very gently tapped Sansa on the shoulder. “My friends and I haven’t even had one drink yet, so we’d be happy to help you look if you need help.”

Sansa wanted to snap at her, but her eyes were so large and friendly and sincere that the insult died in her throat. “Um, yeah, yeah, I would actually really appreciate that. Our brother is worried sick.” 

“Of course,” the girl said softly, so empathetic that Sansa wanted to hug her. “I’m Margaery. My friends over there are Dany and Brienne.” 

“Brienne?” Gendry asked. “Like –”

“If you say Brienne the Beauty I will knock you out, little boy,” Margaery’s eyes went from warm to ice cold in an instant, and Gendry cowered in the booth. Sansa watched the interaction with wide eyes. 

“No, I meant – Arya is taking Brienne’s kickboxing class,” Gendry said. “If…if I’m thinking of the same Brienne.” 

“Arya?” a tall woman, almost a full head taller than Sansa, stood from her stool and came over. “Arya’s missing?” 

“Oh, you’re the big woman –,” the redheaded man burst out. 

Margaery turned to him, Brienne effectively behind her, protected. “What did you just call her?” 

“Margaery, it’s fine,” Brienne muttered. She turned to Sansa and offered her hand. “I’m Brienne, your sister’s kickboxing instructor.” 

“Do you know where she might have gone after class?” Sansa asked. 

“She mentioned something about going to see a friend after,” Brienne said. “She said it was downtown, I think.” 

“Downtown?” Sansa repeated. 

“That’s what she told me,” Brienne said. “Sorry it’s not more helpful.” 

“You are helpful,” Margaery squeezed her arm gently. 

“Hey!” Gendry’s voice shushed everyone immediately. He stood from his seat in the booth and held his phone closer to his ear. “Where are you?” 

Sansa moved closer and pressed her ear to Gendry’s, as close to the phone as she could possibly get. They both listened for a moment before Gendry widened his eyes and said, “You’re with who?” 

“Where is that?” Sansa asked. 

Gendry ignored her and listened to the phone, his eyebrows still high and his posture stiff. “Arya, you’re such a moron, your sister is looking for you, she’s scared to death. You can’t just…” he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. “She hung up on me.” 

“Where is Jaqen’s?” Sansa demanded. 

“He’s some guy that has a weird fight club thing downtown,” Gendry explained. “It’s mostly just a bunch of dudes who like to get together, drink beer, and fight each other.” 

“And Arya’s there?” Brienne exclaimed. “We have to go get her.” 

“Gendry and I will go,” Sansa said firmly. “No offense, but she’s going to be pretty mad at us both for ruining her good time, so if she doesn’t see you there, maybe she will still come to your class instead of going out and doing…whatever it is she’s doing.” 

Brienne nodded once and gave Sansa a weak smile. “If it helps, she’s a good fighter.” 

Sansa gifted Brienne with a genuine smile in return before she turned to Gendry. “Do you have your car?” 

“I have mine,” Margaery interjected. “I can take you both.” 

“Can you drive my…roommates home?” Gendry asked Brienne, passing over a pair of keys. Brienne stared at them for a moment before nodding. She watched them leave, the key ring linked around her finger. 

***

“That’s the woman,” Jaime hissed to Tyrion, who watched the whole exchange silently. “That’s Brienne.” 

“I figured, considering you’ve been staring at her since she came in,” Tyrion pointed out. “Why don’t you go talk to her? Apologize for being an ass.” 

“And have her get pissed at me again?” Jaime asked. “No thanks.” 

“Well, if you use your brain before your mouth starts spitting stuff out, you might be okay,” Tyrion said. “But it’s your choice.” 

Jaime didn’t respond, but followed Brienne’s journey back to the bar, where she retrieved her appletini, still mostly untouched, and moved toward the booth, where Tormund was watching her appreciatively. 

That wouldn’t do at all. 

But still, he was paralyzed, unable to do anything but watch Tormund lean over the bar to speak to Brienne, who leaned back, against the booth, putting precious space between them both. She looked…uncomfortable, and that, at least, was a relief. If she was somehow charmed by Tormund but hated _him_ …he wasn’t sure he could cope. 

“She would probably appreciate it if you saved her from that conversation,” Tyrion muttered. 

“That’s what you think,” Jaime replied, taking another swig of his beer. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this…weirdly hung up on a woman you just met,” Tyrion said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table. “It’s…refreshing.” 

“I’m not hung up on her,” Jaime protested. “I’m just…I don’t get it.” 

“Don’t get what?” 

“Her.” 

“You’ve had half of a conversation with her,” Tyrion pointed out. “I’m sure you’d understand her a bit better if you spoke to her a bit more.” 

Jaime shrugged, unwilling to answer. Sure, Tyrion was right, but he wasn’t quite ready to be called a dick again, especially again in the same day. So instead, he watched, noting how Brienne’s eyes never met Tormund’s, how she twisted the glass around between her large hands, how her hair looked just a tad curlier than it had earlier that day. 

“We can go –”

“Do you want another drink?” Jaime asked, motioning for the bartender. “I think you want another drink.” 

“I don’t –”

“You do.” 

Across the room, Tormund rose from his seat and Jaime jumped up with him. Tyrion followed his movement with a grin. “Are you going to get me a drink?” he asked. 

“Get your own drink,” Jaime replied, striding over to the bar with purpose. “Beer and an Old Fashioned,” he said. He watched Brienne, now alone, while the drinks were made, if only to make sure she didn’t disappear while his back was turned. She was wearing a shirt just too short, and he could just barely see from his vantage point, her toned abs. Just the hint of them made his mouth dry, and he swallowed against it, irritated. 

He was just nervous, that's all. 

Alone, she looked more forlorn than she did when her friends were with her. The light seemed to drain out of her without anyone to perform for, and something about that made Jaime feel even worse. So he took the two drinks, steeled himself against the possible insults and the nerves in his gut, and crossed to the booth. 

“I wasn’t sure what to get you, but you seem like a scotch person,” he said, sliding the Old Fashioned over to her side of the booth. Her blue eyes, so much like the clear ocean, met his, and for a moment, he saw fear there. 

“I’ve never had scotch,” she muttered, staring at the drink. 

“I didn’t…I didn’t do anything to it,” he offered. 

“No one wants to roofie me,” Brienne muttered, twirling her finger around the edge of the glass. Jaime wanted to say something to that, to contradict her, but the opposite of her statement didn’t seem like a compliment, so he didn’t say anything. “Why are you here?” she asked. 

“You’re…you’re Brienne, right?” 

“Who are you? Other than the guy who acted like a jerk at the gym today.” 

Jaime winced. “Jaime Lannister.” He offered her his hand, and after a long moment, she took it and shook. 

“My question stands,” Brienne said expectantly. “Why are you here?” 

“I – well – I just –” Brienne raised her eyebrows, “I wanted to apologize.” 

“Apologize?” she repeated. 

“Apologize,” he confirmed. “I was…I was rude today, and I didn’t – I didn’t intend to be –”

“It seemed pretty intentional to me,” Brienne replied waspishly. 

“I know,” Jaime nodded. “I’m – I didn’t know what to say, and when I don’t know what to do, my stupid mouth gets ahead of my brain and says something stupid.” 

“So…what you’re saying is that…deep down you wanted to insult me, but you wouldn’t have if you could just think of things to say faster?” Brienne asked, finally lifting the Old Fashioned and taking a drink. She pulled the glass away, considering it for a moment, and then put it down. “What did you say that was?” she asked. 

“It’s an Old Fashioned,” Jaime supplied helpfully. He didn’t comment on the first part. 

“Oi, aren’t you from the gym?” Tormund’s voice was so loud that Brienne jumped, her hand landing over her heart. Her eyes met Jaime’s, blue and wide and mystical, and Jaime almost forgot to answer. 

“Yeah, I am,” he said, standing. “Sorry to take your seat, but Brienne and I have some things we need to discuss back at my table,” he glanced back at her, holding tightly to her drink. “Just….gym stuff.” 

“Okay,” Tormund shrugged. “I’ll let you know when Yara is ready to go,” he said to Brienne, who nodded and followed Jaime away from the booth to the table in the back, where Tyrion was watching with a surprised smirk on his face. 

***

“Why do they call you that?” Tyrion asked. “Brienne the Beauty.” 

Brienne winced at the name, and Jaime glared at his brother. “I’ve known most of the guys who came up with it since high school,” she said, looking down at the table. “Ben, Hyle, Edmund, all of them. They’ve been calling me that since…well, since I got taller than them in the eighth grade.” 

“You’ve been called that since the eighth grade?” Tyrion repeated, astonished. “And…why haven’t you kicked their asses yet?” 

“And give them more ammo?” Brienne asked, shrugging. “It’s better to ignore it.” 

Jaime watched them talk, both annoyed and pleased that Brienne seemed to have no problem talking to Tyrion while she could barely have a conversation with him. 

“It seems like it isn’t making it any better, if I may say,” Tyrion pointed out. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for owning up to what people will use to make fun of you. But it seems like they won’t stop until you make them stop.” 

“So you want me to beat them up?” Brienne asked, smiling. 

Her smile was astonishing, he thought. Her face transformed when she smiled; her eyes got even brighter, the little lines around her eyes softened her visage. He wanted to make her smile constantly. 

“What are you looking at?” she asked. 

Tyrion turned his eyes to his brother, his eyes just wide enough to catch his attention. _Get it together,_ his eyes were saying. _Stop being so obvious._

“Nothing,” Jaime said, and then stopped himself. “Not…not that you’re nothing. Just...just you…you have _really_ pretty eyes.” 

Brienne furrowed her brow at him, and stood. “I should go,” she said, avoiding Jaime’s gaze. “It was nice to meet you, Tyrion.” 

Jaime and Tyrion watched her go in silence. 

“That went…better than I thought it would,” Tyrion said. 

“Shut up.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's trauma is making her do stupid, reckless things, some ladies get dates, and Jaime tries to do a nice thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does not have a lot of Braime in it because Arya's trauma needed to be explained a little more. I promise we will get to more Braime soon! They are kind of dicks to each other in this chapter, but give it time! I promise!

Margaery drove, her hands tight around the steering wheel, while Gendry gave her directions to Jaqen’s place, though whether that was a bar, a house, or what, Sansa didn’t know. Downtown was grungy, dirty, and mostly unlit, graffiti peppering the walls of abandoned businesses. Sansa felt worry creeping up her throat the longer they drove, Margaery’s safe, slow pace almost maddening. 

Jon was also on his way, probably driving recklessly to get there as soon as possible. Ever since their father died, along with their mother and their brothers, Jon seemed to carry the weight of the entire family on his shoulders. It didn’t help that many people (Child Protective Services, mainly) continuously insisted on reminding him that he wasn’t technically Sansa and Arya’s blood relatives. He was their adopted brother, though their father intimated he was really their cousin, but CPS didn’t care about that. They wanted to put Arya in foster care, with an uncle that lived out of state who always had a new young wife every three years, like clockwork. 

But Jon insisted; he dropped out of college and got a job as a mechanic to make ends meet, and he was desperate to prove that he could be Arya’s guardian. Mostly, he was successful. Sansa didn’t think their creepy uncle would make a better father than Jon, not when Jon stayed up half the night to help Arya with calculus, not when Jon helped Arya pick out a suit to wear to prom instead of a dress, not when Jon was waking up an hour earlier than everyone else to make her lunch. 

No, he deserved to be lauded, not punished, and he certainly didn’t deserve to be punished by Arya. 

“This is the place,” Gendry muttered from the backseat. “I can go in and get her, if you want,” he said to Sansa. “Jaqen knows me.” 

“So are you the one who introduced Arya to this place?” she asked, her voice so cold Gendry looked affronted. 

“She brought _me_ here,” he said. 

That definitely tracked. 

“I’ll go get her,” Sansa said, unbuckling the seat belt. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Margaery, who nodded. 

She shoved the door open, the underside brushing against tall, uncut grass, and stepped out of the car. Out here, the sounds of the city were completely lost to the sound of a train approaching, loud and raucous, and underneath that, the sound of heavy metal thrummed through the air. 

She sighed heavily and trudged forward. 

Jaqen’s place (if it could be called a place) was an abandoned garage, complete with the rusty walls, holes in the ceiling, and a car lifted up into the air with no tires. At the back of the room, several men (grown men, if Sansa judged their size correctly) were clustered in a circle, watching the goings-on inside. 

It smelled horrendously like bare male feet, beer, and sweat, and Sansa had to press her hand to her nose to breathe past it and her anxiety. Her eyes searched the crowd for Arya, and when she didn’t see her, the panic only mounted. Had she left when she realized that Gendry was sending Sansa over?

But no, Sansa realized as she got closer. Arya was there, she was just in the middle of the circle, her legs wrapped around a grown man’s neck, his arm bent almost backwards. 

“Tap out!” one of the men shouted. “She’ll break your shoulder!” 

“The girl has considerable strength,” a man with long, greasy hair said calmly from a chair in the circle. “I say let her.” 

The man underneath Arya panted and tapped the ground twice, and the crowd erupted in cheers, deep and masculine. Arya released him and stood, her face dirty and bloody, a cut over one eyebrow. Worry cascaded over Sansa in an instant, and she shoved her way through the crowd. 

“That is _enough_ ,” Sansa snapped, stepping into the circle. “Arya Stark, you get your ass over here right now.” 

The crowd immediately fell silent, and Arya planted her feet, her arms crossed in front of her chest, still heaving with the effort of almost breaking a grown man’s shoulder. “Are you going to make me?” she asked. 

“She might not, but I will,” Gendry’s voice was almost obscured by the onslaught of “ _ooh_ ” that followed Arya’s statement, but his voice caught Arya’s attention all the same. 

“You are a traitor,” she said haughtily. “And you can’t beat me anyway.” 

“Maybe not,” Gendry shrugged. “But you are small, milady –”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped as Gendry pushed through the crowd. 

“Sure, as milady wishes,” he said, raising his hands to block her attack, halfhearted and almost joking. As she swung, he grabbed her by one wrist and waist and tossed her over his shoulders, like a sack of potatoes. “Okay, let’s go,” he said to Sansa. “Thanks, Jaqen, always a pleasure.” 

The man with greasy hair waved them both off, looking bemused. 

Gendry led the way back outside, Sansa trailing behind, watching little drops of Arya’s sweat and blood drip off of her face and land on the dirty ground. Her bare feet kicked in the air, and when she did, Sansa could just barely see that they were completely black. 

“You’re going to need a tetanus shot,” she muttered as another pair of headlights flashed, Jon’s arrival announcing itself by branding the light to the inside of her eyelids. 

“You called Jon?” Arya grumbled as Jon’s voice came flying out of the open car window. 

“What’s wrong with her?” he was asking, stumbling out of the car and over to them. “Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine,” Sansa reassured him. 

“She’s _bleeding_ ,” Jon’s voice was almost accusatory, but Sansa knew it was out of worry rather than anger. “Why are you bleeding?” he asked as Gendry let Arya down, careful to set her on top of the hood of Jon’s car, so her bare feet wouldn’t be in the dirty grass. 

“I got hit in the face,” she shrugged. “The guy didn’t take his ring off.” 

“Someone _hit_ you?!” Jon exclaimed, turning toward the garage. Gendry grabbed his arm and held him in place. 

“It’s a fight club,” Gendry explained. “That’s what they do in there. No one fights unless they want to. She went in there herself, no one forced her.” 

Jon glared at Arya, who still looked maddeningly calm. “Is that true?” 

“I like to fight,” she muttered. 

“You could have been killed!” Jon shouted. “You realize if CPS hears about this, they’ll take you away, and put you in foster care, right?” Arya winced and looked down at her bruised hands. “Do you want to go live with Uncle Walder?” 

“No!” 

“Then why are you doing this?” he asked, and for a moment, Sansa thought he might cry. She shooed Gendry away from her brother and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He sighed, so heavily his shoulders slumped, but he gave her a grateful half-smile all the same. 

Arya didn’t answer, but wiped away a tear she thought no one could see. 

***

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Sansa muttered as Gendry got out of the car, waving at them both. “I mean…you didn’t deserve to be pulled into Stark family drama.” 

Margaery shrugged. “Really, I just wanted to help. You’ll get no judgment from me.” 

Sansa wanted to thank her, but the words seemed stuck in her throat. “You said you were a student at the university?” 

Margaery pulled her long, dark hair over her other shoulder and nodded. “Yep. I’m an English major. You?” 

“Political science.” 

Margaery smiled and pressed a button on the dashboard, finally allowing the radio to play. “I almost went into polisci,” she said. “But English is enigmatic, more enjoyable.” 

Sansa leaned back in the seat and surveyed Margaery’s profile, sharp and soft at the same time. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” 

Something in her voice must have caught Margaery’s attention, because she jerked her head back to look at Sansa, catching her gaze in the dim light of the passing streetlamp. “My roommates and I have a standing lunch date on Wednesdays on campus,” she said. “Why don’t you come by?” 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude –”

“Good, because you wouldn’t be,” Margaery quipped, pulling into Sansa’s driveway. “I’ll give you my number.” 

Sansa, too tired to protest, and too busy watching the shadows dance of the planes of Margaery’s face, did not answer but passed her phone over. 

***

Jaime watched Brienne as her friends (and Tormund, he grumbled inwardly) gathered around her, their bills paid, purses on their shoulders, ready to go home. She seemed particularly fond of the woman with the white hair; at least, she smiled at her the most. 

She held the door open for them as they left, pointedly ignoring Tormund when he tried to hold the door open for her instead. Before she slipped through the door and out into the night, she lifted her gaze and caught him staring, her eyes just as piercing and stunning far away as they were up close. 

She didn’t say anything, but a confused look fluttered over her face before she was gone from his view, and Jaime was left to ponder that for the rest of the night. 

***

“Thank you for the ride home, Brienne,” Yara whispered, careful not to jostle Dany, who was sleeping peacefully on her shoulder. “Are you sure you and Dany can make it home from here?” 

Brienne shrugged, trying to ignore Tormund’s presence in the front seat beside her. “We are about a block from our dorm, so it really isn’t a problem,” she reasoned. 

“Or you could just stay here,” Tormund suggested. “Your roommate seems tired.” 

“She’ll survive a block walk,” Brienne replied coolly.

“Tormund, quit acting like a drunk dick,” Yara muttered, sitting up carefully, her eyes landing on Dany as she stirred. “Hey there, princess.” 

“Are we home?” Dany asked. 

“ _I_ am home,” Yara said, and Brienne could hear something like regret in her voice. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” 

Dany grinned, her teeth bright in the darkness. “Dinner, right,” she said. “Yes, tomorrow.” 

“Good,” Yara murmured, so quiet Brienne barely heard her, and from her reflection in the rear view mirror, she watched as Yara pressed a chaste kiss to Dany’s cheek. “Tomorrow, then,” she said, pushing open the door. 

Brienne followed her, turning off the car and passing over the keys. Yara took them with a bashful ‘thank you,’ color still in her cheeks. Tormund was next to get out of the car, and Brienne was almost distressed to see him cross to the other side of the car to stand beside her. 

“I hope I see you back at the gym soon,” he said gruffly, following Yara’s lead and leaning in. Brienne felt panic seize her muscles and went stiff, her eyes wide, as Tormund kissed her cheek, his beard scratching her jaw bone. 

No one had ever kissed her there before, at least, not sincerely. The last person who did was doing it for some bet, and Brienne felt the familiar wave of paranoia rise in her chest and she resisted the urge to push him away roughly. Perhaps he was just being kind, or perhaps she was just…not being grateful enough. 

He pulled back to survey her reaction, and Brienne wasn’t sure what was projected on her face, but he didn’t look pleased. He gave her a nod and stepped away, following Yara inside the small house, the grass just barely too long around the edges of the sidewalk. 

“Did that guy just –”

“Yep,” Brienne answered, turning back to Dany, who looked amused. 

“Do you like him?” she asked, linking her arm in Brienne’s as they started down the sidewalk. 

“No,” Brienne laughed. “I don’t even know him.” 

“Well, do you think you might like him?” Dany asked. “I mean, if you got to know him or anything?” 

“He’s…aggressive,” Brienne replied stiffly. 

“Is that bad?” 

She shrugged. Truthfully, she didn’t really know, but she didn’t trust Tormund. Perhaps it was because he reminded her so much of those high school boys who played that cruel joke on her, or perhaps it’s because she heard him call her ‘that big woman’ several times before even bothering to ask her name. Whatever it was, he seemed nice enough, but…she didn’t like him. 

“It sounded like you have a date with Yara tomorrow,” Brienne said, changing the subject as gracefully as she could.

“I do,” Dany agreed, her smile wide and bright. “She seems…interesting so far.” 

“It helps that she’s pretty,” Brienne pointed out, absently delighted in the way her friend blushed. 

“She is, isn’t she?” Dany said. 

***

“I can’t believe you didn’t need stitches,” Brienne said, checking Arya’s forehead one more time in spite of her squirming. “It looks like it’s going to scar.” 

“Cool,” Arya said with a mischievous grin. “It’s already way smaller and it’s been a week, so it might just leave a little one.” 

“Next time you see someone swing at you with a ring on, you break that hand,” Brienne said seriously. “If he had hit your temple, he could have killed you.” 

“Break his hand, got it,” Arya murmured. “Class starts in five, so I’m going to go stretch out. I’ll see you there.” 

“Okay,” Brienne said fondly, watching as she bounded away. Seeing the difference between Arya at the gym and hearing about her from her sister was jarring – it seemed like Arya was happier when she could fight, and when she couldn’t, she would act out until she had a reason to fight. Brienne understood where it came from – it came from the same place for her when she started fighting. 

The world is big and scary, and most of the time, bad things happen to you and you cannot control it. Learning how to defend yourself means that you can at least protect yourself and your loved ones when you need to, and that gives you a sense of peace. 

She had seen the news stories about Arya’s family. Mugged and killed on their way home from her brother’s Christmas recital. The police had chalked it up to random gang violence, but shoving it under the rug just created wounds that festered and exploded. 

Arya just needed something to help her control it. 

***

A little over an hour later, Jaime watched intently as Ben swaggered into the room while Brienne was talking to the young girl again (was her name Arya? He didn’t quite remember). He immediately pressed the stop button on his treadmill and hopped off, pulling the headphones out of his ears. 

“Don’t act all smug to me, little Beauty,” Ben was snapping at Brienne, who had her hand tight on Arya’s shoulder, and Jaime knew, from only a momentary glance at them, that Brienne wasn’t going to say anything; she wasn’t going to fight back. Not in front of her student. He strode over, trying to get there before his nerve ran out.

“Something wrong?” he asked, leaning against the door.

Ben froze and turned just enough to see who was talking. “No one was talking to you, Lannister. Mind your business.” 

“I see that,” Jaime said calmly. “But I’m not terribly fond of the way you’re talking to Brienne, so I think I’m going to make it my business.” 

Ben frowned, turning more toward Jaime while Brienne furrowed her brows at him. “Listen, Lannister –”

“I have been listening,” Jaime said. “And that’s kind of exactly the problem. So, I’m sure Brienne and Arya would love to leave and let you do your caveman yelling all by yourself. Arya, Brienne?” He motioned to them both, and Brienne considered him before pushing Arya in his direction. A few moments later, she followed, leaving Jaime alone with Ben.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ben growled, stomping toward Jaime, loud enough that Jaime felt the almost uncontrollable urge to make a joke out of his thundering footsteps. “What I do in my classroom, and who I do it with –”

“You mean, who you do it _to_ ,” Jaime interrupted. 

“I don’t know what game you’re playing –”

“And I’m not sure I follow yours either,” Jaime said coolly. “Glad to know we’re on the same page.” Before Ben could say anything else, he left, closing the door behind him. 

For the first time in a while, he felt good about himself. It felt nice to stop something bad when it was happening instead of standing by and watching it happen. 

“What was that for?” Brienne’s voice was so much harsher when she spoke to him, and Jaime was so caught up in it for a moment that he forgot to answer. It wasn’t until Arya raised her eyebrows at him that he responded. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“I mean,” Brienne said shortly. “Why did you feel the need to go in there and come to my rescue? I could have handled it.” Her eyes were so bright, so painfully blue. Jaime cleared his throat and tried to focus.

Jaime shrugged. “Didn’t look like you were handling it,” he muttered. The satisfaction he felt at helping her rapidly evaporated. Did he seriously do something wrong again? “I was just trying to help.” 

“My sister is here,” Arya said to Brienne, whose expression softened when she looked down at her pupil. “I have to go.” 

“Okay,” Brienne said. “Tell Sansa I said hello.” 

Arya jogged away, shooting Jaime one final withering look before she was gone. 

“Why?” Brienne asked, crossing her arms. 

“Why what?” Jaime asked, exasperated. “Why did I help you?” 

“Yeah,” Brienne said firmly. “Why help me? You don’t even know me.” 

Jaime sighed. “Because Ben is a dick, that’s why. Guaranteed it had nothing to do with you.” 

“Good,” Brienne snapped. “Because if someone put you up to this –”

“What the _hell_ does that mean?” 

“You can tell them that the joke has been played and they can leave me alone now,” Brienne finished as if he hadn’t spoken at all. Her eyes were just barely redder than they were before. “I’m not going to deal with this _again_.” 

Before he could ask her what she meant for a second time, she was walking away, too fast for Jaime to find the words to say something that wouldn’t be misconstrued. Instead he watched her go, just as confused as before.

***

Brienne stood in the shower, the warm water beating down on the sore muscles of her neck, her mind running as quickly as her thoughts could manage. Who the hell was Jaime Lannister anyway, and who did he think he was, coming in to save her when she didn’t need it? 

Her mind cruelly conjured up an image of Jaime’s face, all soft stubble and green eyes. Brienne sighed, irritated. This was just how it started last time. A good looking pretty boy would come in, say some pretty words, and Brienne would make a fool of herself pretending she could be loved by him. 

She learned her lesson last time. She was not girlfriend material, she could see that clearly in the mirror every time she dared to look. And Jaime Lannister, with his pretty eyes and irritating lack of flattery would not change her mind. 

No matter how many times he came to her defense.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gives Tormund a chance, but Jaime is the one who gets time alone with her.

Wednesdays were Brienne’s favorite day of the week. With classes ramping up and her roommates being more studious than their demeanor would suggest, she, Margaery, and Dany were a revolving door in their dorm, never staying in one place for too long. More often than not, Brienne would leave early in the morning, spot one of her roommates on a walk to another class, and would be asleep long before they came home. Wednesdays, all three of them would eat lunch together in the little mall-area in the main building of the college. 

Brienne was the last to arrive this particular Wednesday, and she dropped her heavy backpack on the ground in front of her and took her seat, between Dany and Sansa, who was spearing a strawberry out of Margaery’s salad. 

“Hey!” Dany said happily. “I thought you might miss us this week.” 

“I never miss Wednesday lunch,” Brienne replied, lifting the top off of her prepackaged sandwich. Sansa, beside her, smiled a greeting and went back to talking quietly with Margaery. 

“They’ve been conspiratorial all lunch long,” Dany said to Brienne’s questioning look. “They’re keeping secrets.” 

Margaery glanced up at her roommates and winked before going back to her whispered conversation. Brienne gave Dany a significant look that Dany acknowledged. 

“You have your class to teach tonight, don’t you?” Dany asked, poking absently at her chicken. “With Sansa’s sister?” 

Brienne nodded. “Yep.” A wave of nerves washed over her at the idea of seeing Ben again, of dealing with his harassment, and she redirected her eyes to her food. Dany furrowed her brows at her but didn’t speak. 

“Arya told me that the guy who was giving you trouble got told off by that blond guy at the bar a couple of weeks ago,” Sansa interjected. “Lannister or something?” 

“Jaime Lannister,” Brienne confirmed. 

“He defended you?” Margaery asked, leaning her pointed chin on her delicate little hand. Brienne knew what she was insinuating; she always did whenever someone did something kind for Brienne. Part of her hated Margaery’s insistence on seeing Brienne as someone people wanted to date – they didn’t, and the more that Margaery pretended that wasn’t the case, the more hurtful it was when Margaery was inevitably proven wrong. Still, a kinder part of her understood that Margaery was trying to help, trying to help build her confidence up from where it was. 

“I wouldn’t call it defending,” Brienne muttered, tearing pieces of the bread off of her sandwich absently. 

“What would you call it, then?” Margaery asked. 

“I don’t know,” Brienne replied, suddenly agitated. “I just wish Jaime Lannister would leave me alone.” Her voice, unbeknownst to her, had risen in volume enough that Margaery raised her eyebrows and did not respond. Immediately, Brienne felt guilty for snapping. 

She stared down at her sandwich, suddenly unappetizing, and tried to force herself to apologize. Instead, the women sat in silence for a few moments before Brienne grabbed her bag and stood. 

“I should go,” she muttered, and left them behind, Dany’s protestations falling on deaf ears. 

***

“I just wish I could help her, you know?” Dany said, tilting her head so Yara could have better access to her long, white locks. “Brienne is one of the best people I know, and she deserves love.” 

Yara hummed her agreement and continued to braid, her fingers just barely scraping against Dany’s scalp as she did. 

“But she thinks she’s completely unlovable, that no one will ever like her like that,” Dany continued. “It’s just….I don’t know. It’s hard to see my friend like that.” 

“My roommate likes her like that,” Yara pointed out. “I know he’s big and loud, but Tormund is a pretty good guy. He’d treat her right.” 

Dany craned her neck to look back at her. “Didn’t you just tell me the other night that Tormund has a tall woman fetish?” 

Yara shrugged. “Just because he likes tall women doesn’t mean that he isn’t interested in Brienne’s personality, too,” she said. “It just means that he…noticed her physically….before speaking to her.” 

“I don’t know if I want to set Brienne up with a guy who is going to try to bang her just because she’s taller than him,” Dany murmured. “If she thinks it’s all about the sex, she won’t give him a chance. Besides, she deserves to be wooed.” 

“Wooed?” Yara repeated.

“Won over, romanced, you know what I mean,” Dany retorted. 

“Speaking of romancing, are you still going to let me take you dancing this weekend?” Yara asked, pulling a braid of Dany’s hair aside so she could kiss the soft skin behind her ear. “You promised.” 

“I did promise,” Dany replied breathlessly, leaning back into Yara’s arms. “And that promise stands.” 

“Good,” Yara whispered. “And why don’t we all go out to the bar on Friday? I’ll bring my roommate, and we’ll see if he’s up for romancing yours.” 

Dany nodded. “If Tormund says one gross thing to Brienne, I swear –”

“I will let you rain fire and blood on him, princess,” Yara promised. 

***

“I don’t want to go to the bar,” Brienne whined, her eyes on the ceiling of her dorm while her two roommates rummaged in their closets for something to wear. “I don’t want to see people.” 

“Sorry, babe, non-negotiable,” Dany pointed out, rifling through Brienne’s closet and pulling out a deep blue crop top. “Here, you’re wearing this,” she said, tossing it at her inert roommate. “And these,” she yanked a pair of tight black pants off a hanger and they quickly followed the shirt. 

“I hate these pants –”

“You love those pants,” Dany argued. “Get dressed.” 

Though she grumbled and complained, Brienne did get dressed, rationalizing that she did deserve a drink after the week she had, if only as a celebration. Her class on Wednesday had passed largely uneventfully. Ben had only come in right as she was leaving, and had done nothing but sneer in her direction. As for Jaime Lannister, she’d caught his gaze only once that day, riveted on her while she taught, but they did not speak. 

That was fine by her. 

She stared at herself in the mirror, the crop top short and baring her just barely defined abs, the pants tight and dark and flattering. She looked…almost good. She never told herself she looked good, because she never really believed it, but right now she was as good as she was going to get. 

Dany and Margaery graced her with wolf whistles when she left the bathroom, and Brienne felt heat wash over her cheeks at the praise. 

“Fine, fine, let’s go to the damn bar,” she grumbled good-naturedly. 

***

Brienne regretted going to the bar the moment she walked in. Immediately, Margaery was sitting with Sansa, their heads close together, and Yara was sitting with Dany, her arm around her waist. And Brienne was left alone, and open for conversation. Before the bartender made her first drink, Tormund was taking the seat beside her. 

“Fancy seeing you here again,” he said, his voice gruff and just barely accented. Brienne gave him a terse smile that he returned genuinely. 

“Considering your roommate is here,” she pointed out, “I’m assuming this isn’t a coincidence.” 

“Us being in the same bar tonight? Coincidence,” Tormund said, motioning to the bartender to refill his pint. “You looking as fantastic as you always do? Not a coincidence.” 

Brienne dropped her eyes to her own outfit as if to remind herself what she was wearing and flushed dark pink. “I – well, my roommates picked it out for me,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. 

“Well, your roommates have great taste,” Tormund said, raising his glass when Brienne’s own drink appeared not long after. “To your beauty,” he said, and clinked their glasses. Brienne drank, her eyes searching the crowd for her friends. Instead, they landed on Jaime Lannister, at his same table as last time, his eyes on her. 

***

“She looks like she’s having fun,” Tyrion pointed out, turning back toward his brother, who glowered at him. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

Jaime took a long drink of his beer. “How can she like a guy like that? You know he referred to her as the ‘big woman’ like four times? I had to correct him.” 

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “You know, you’ve told me before.” He considered his brother’s face, watching whatever was happening behind him. “Why don’t you go talk to her?” he suggested. “Turn on that Lannister charm that I know you have.” 

“I don’t have any Lannister charm,” Jaime muttered. “Every time I try to talk to her I say something moronic.” 

“Maybe she likes morons,” Tyrion said. At Jaime’s eye roll, he pressed on. “Why don’t you actually tell her that you like her? Ask her on a date?” 

“Why? So she can reject me in front of everyone?” Jaime asked. “No thanks.” 

“Then don’t get mad when someone else makes a move,” Tyrion shrugged. “You can’t just sit back and expect her to come to you when all you’ve done is make a fool of yourself.” 

“She’s touching his arm,” Jaime blurted, and Tyrion turned around to see for himself. Sure enough, Brienne’s hand was on Tormund’s forearm, her eyes on his, an almost smile gracing her face. Tormund looked positively thrilled. 

Jaime looked wretched. 

***

“Your name is not Giantsbane,” she said with a laugh that Tormund reflected. “No way, it’s not!” 

“It is!” he exclaimed. “My father was a strongman in a circus, and when they traveled, they changed their name to Giantsbane. They thought it made him sound more intimidating.” 

Brienne laughed again, her hand landing on Tormund’s arm. “I don’t think I believe you, Tormund Giantsbane,” she remarked. “You’ll have to prove it to me.” 

“Oh will I?” Tormund said, and Brienne could hear the playful edge of his flirting. “And how exactly will I do that?” 

“Buy me another drink,” she said boldly, “and then show me your driver’s license.” 

“Your wish is my command,” Tormund said, motioning to the bartender. 

He had just finished ordering a drink for Brienne when the door behind them opened again, and Brienne, out of habit, looked back to see who the newcomer was. Usually it was someone she didn’t know, and she easily fell back into conversation with Tormund. This time, however, she recognized the person in the doorway. 

“Shit,” she muttered, turning back to Tormund. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“The guy who just walked in –” Tormund turned to look. 

“Wait, that’s the guy who was bugging you a few weeks ago at the gym,” Tormund said, too loudly for Brienne’s liking. “Jaime Lannister and I saw him.” 

The last thing she wanted was to think about Jaime Lannister. “Yeah, well, he’s kind of an asshole every time I see him, so –”

“He’s coming over here,” Tormund interrupted. 

“What?” 

“He’s coming over here.” 

***

“Shit,” Jaime cursed under his breath. “Ben is here.” 

“Who?” Tyrion asked, craning his neck for a better view. 

“Ben Bushy,” Jaime explained. “He has this grudge against Brienne for some reason. He’s always trying to start a fight with her at the gym. I stepped in last week –”

“And that didn’t go well for you, did it?” Tyrion asked. 

Jaime didn’t reply, but watched Ben swagger up to the bar, where he ordered something from the bartender and turned to survey Brienne. He could see, even from his distance, that she was tense. Tormund, beside her, still looked at ease, his body language far more relaxed than Brienne, who was taut as a guitar string. 

Ben said something, Jaime couldn’t hear, but Brienne’s face turned red. Tyrion sucked in a sharp breath, and both Lannister brothers waited for Tormund to do something, to say something to defend her. Clearly, whatever Ben had said was an insult. 

But nothing came. Instead, Brienne banished the redness of her face and turned to better face Ben, and snapped back at him. Whatever she said shocked Ben, and he stared at her for a moment before his anger overtook him and he grabbed her arm. 

“Jaime –” Tyrion said as a warning, but Jaime was already up and moving. 

Before Ben could do anything else, before Tormund could finally react, Jaime wrenched Ben’s hand off of Brienne and swung, his punch landing right on Ben’s cheekbone. Ben recoiled sharply, falling against the bar, and the bar went deadly silent. 

“You again?” Ben snarled. “Can’t you mind your own business?” 

“You alright?” Jaime asked Brienne, who was rubbing the arm that Ben had just been holding. 

“The beauty is fine,” Ben snapped, and as he swayed on the spot, Jaime realized that Ben was drunk. “Or should I say the beast?” 

Jaime, who had just resolved to not hit Ben again, swung without thinking, this time landing his punch on Ben’s nose. Immediately, it poured blood, and Jaime knew he’d broken it. Behind him, Tyrion was cheering him on, and Brienne was shouting his name, though whether she was angry or happy he couldn’t tell. She was probably angry. 

Ben touched his hand to his nose and winced, pulling the fingers away and seeing blood. Instead of admitting defeat, as Jaime hoped, he launched himself at his opponent, swinging wildly. It was clear Ben had no idea how to fight, but still, he knocked into Jaime so hard he stumbled and fell, Ben on top of him, Jaime’s arms pinned underneath him, and before anyone intervened, Ben landed a few good hits. 

But as soon as it started, it was over, and Ben was being pulled off of Jaime by Brienne, who was staring down at him like she wasn’t quite sure what to think. Jaime let her march Ben to the door, and only then did he hear the sound of the rest of the bar – the bartender yelling that he’d called the cops so they’d better all clear out, Tyrion still calling for his brother, Tormund yelling something in that distinct voice of his. The sound swelled and then quieted, and suddenly Tyrion was there, helping Jaime up and telling him that they needed to go somewhere where the cops wouldn’t find them. 

“Come with me,” Brienne’s voice was firm but not angry, and Jaime finally allowed himself a moment to look at her, her hair just slightly mussed, her blue shirt that bared her entire midriff to his hungry gaze, her black pants and heeled shoes that put her a good three inches taller than he was. It was almost heavenly to be able to look upon her up close rather than from a distance, though why it was so nice he couldn’t say.

“Jaime,” Tyrion prompted, and only then did Jaime realize she was waiting for his answer. 

“Yeah, sure, okay,” he muttered. Brienne took him by the arm, gently enough that they could have been skipping down the yellow brick road, and led him to a car at the edge of the parking lot. They didn’t speak. 

“Get in,” she said. 

***

Wherever he expected Brienne to take them, her dorm room never quite ranked as a possibility. But she ushered both Jaime and Tyrion into the room and closed the door behind them, locking it. Jaime looked around the room, noting the three beds, only one of them made, and noted that the tidy one was definitely hers. 

There was something surprisingly intimate about being in her room, where she slept and showered and existed outside of the public eye, even with his brother there with them, that Jaime was at a loss for words. Finally, Brienne turned her burning gaze on Jaime and scrutinized him. He wondered if she liked what she saw. 

“You’re bleeding,” she said simply. 

Oh. 

“Here,” she said, and opened a door that led to a bathroom. Jaime followed her in, but Tyrion did not, bless him. She left the door partially open, but they were even more alone in here, and Jaime felt the pressure to speak overwhelm him. 

“I’m sorry for butting into –”

“Don’t apologize,” she said, turning away from him to rummage in one of the cabinets. “You were trying to do something noble.” 

She turned back to him, some alcohol and bandages in her hands, and set them on the counter. Jaime watched her survey the supplies with a dry mouth. Was she going to…help nurse his wounds? 

“It was idiotic, but it was noble,” she finished. 

“Now hang on –”

But her hands were on the side of his face, and she was staring at his mouth, and he could not form a coherent thought anymore. This was…this looked dangerously like she was going to kiss him. He didn’t dare hope. 

“You probably don’t need stitches,” she mused, and took up a tissue from the counter and gently pressed it into Jaime’s lip, which he noticed, as she did, was bleeding. Her eyes darted back up to his and she left her own gaze there, as if searching for something in his eyes. He wondered if she found it. 

“Listen to me, Jaime Lannister, and listen closely,” she said, her voice just barely above a whisper – they were so close she didn’t need to speak any louder. “I don’t need you to barrel in and save me every time someone does something rude to me. I can handle myself, and I can defend myself.” 

“I – yeah,” Jaime muttered, registering her voice and her words but adrift in her proximity. 

“The next time something like this happens, give me the opportunity to defend myself first,” she said, and her voice was lightened with something that sounded like humor. “If I need your help, I will ask for it.” 

She pulled the tissue away from his lip and wiped once more at his lip with her thumb. Jaime wished she would do it again, but she was looking at him like she couldn’t quite figure out what to do now. Still, she didn’t move away. 

“Would it be so bad to ask for my help?” he asked, his voice soft. 

“It would if I didn’t know why you’re so desperate to give it,” she replied, and the hand that was on his face dropped down to the counter, close enough that she might as well have dropped it on his leg. 

He tried to think of a lie, something charming or witty that would satisfy her without revealing any of his true intentions. After a few moments, he came up empty. He blamed her; all he could see what her, all he could smell was her shampoo, all he could hear was the sound of her breath. 

“Would you believe me if I said I just wanted a reason to talk to you?” he asked, and he swore he heard all of her breath leave her lungs. She stared at him, her blue eyes wide, and he wanted, desperately, more than he ever wanted anything in his life, to kiss her, to prove the truth behind his words. But still, he watched her, watched her struggle with how to respond. 

Finally, she said, “No, I wouldn’t.” 

***

He glanced down at her lips again, and Brienne wished she could be like her roommates, like other girls. She would think nothing of kissing him if she wasn’t who she was. But men didn’t want to kiss women like her, so she looked down at him, into his painfully honest green eyes, at his just barely parted lips, and tore herself away. 

“How can I prove it to you?” he asked, the question blurted out so fast he was clearly afraid that their time alone had come to an end. 

“You can’t,” she muttered. 

He pulled himself away from the counter, his busted lip still barely bleeding. “Brienne –”

Had he ever said her name before? The way it sent a chill through her, she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t remember if he’d said it, or if he had, if he’d ever said it that way. She clenched her jaw and turned back to him, her eyes on his jaw and not his own. 

“You teach kickboxing on Wednesdays, right?” he asked, and the sudden turn back to regular conversation left her reeling for a moment before she could get her bearings back. 

“I do,” she said tentatively. 

“Would you consider sparring with me on Thursdays?” he asked. “I took some mixed martial arts classes when I was younger, and since I clearly get into bar fights now,” he motioned to his face, and she almost laughed, “I would like to stay on top of my game.” 

She considered him for a moment, his eyes wide and sincere, his gaze hopeful. What could it hurt, she reasoned, to spar with him on Thursdays? Only her heart, and she knew how to protect it. 

“Thursdays,” she agreed.

He grinned at her, his smile lighting up his already handsome face, and it was so charming Brienne found herself smiling back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya gets the talking to she needs, Cersei is concerned for her brother, Jon makes strides toward regaining his life, Margaery and Sansa have lunch, and Jaime and Brienne have their first sparring session.

In the Lannister home, Tyrion was always the first one up. His father might be awake, but he was always locked up tight in his office until he left, stalking quietly through the house in his black suit, double-knotted tie and designer briefcase. He never strayed from his path: the singular hallway that began outside his home office and ended out the front door, where he would duck into his black sedan. Besides the specter of his father, Tyrion was the one who turned the lights on in the kitchen first, who started the coffee, who watched the day begin from the window. 

Cersei would rise after that, dressed and manicured and perfect, and as long as Jaime was still sleeping, she would ignore Tyrion completely, which was exactly how he liked it. Of the three siblings, Cersei was the most mercurial of temper, and it seemed that Jaime was the only one for whom Cersei attempted to be kind. 

Jaime would get up last, all rumpled hair and unshaven jaw, and would eat a bowl of cereal in silence while the other two studiously ignored each other until one of them caved first and left the table. Even though the interactions were tense, as they always were in this family, Tyrion liked the routine. It was normal, it was expected.

This morning, however, that routine changed. When he walked into the kitchen, Cersei was already sitting in his seat by the window, a cup of coffee in her hands. Tyrion tried not to acknowledge how jarring this change in his morning routine was, but Cersei’s smirk only grew wider as he puttered around the kitchen, making his own coffee. 

“We need to talk about our brother,” she said finally, her voice soft but cold.

Tyrion shrugged and took the seat at the other end of the table, far away from her. “Well, he won’t be up for another two hours, so you’re in for a long wait.” 

“He got in a bar fight,” Cersei continued as if he hadn’t spoken, as she always did.

Tyrion sipped his coffee. “A few days ago,” he pointed out. “Nice of you to finally notice.” 

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “My point is, why did he get in this fight? What on earth possessed him to do something stupid like that?” 

“He was protecting a woman who was being disrespected,” Tyrion said, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. “He was being a gentleman.” 

“Who is this girl?” Cersei asked sharply. “Do we know her?” 

Tyrion shook his head. “Oh no, we aren’t doing this.” 

Cersei shrugged innocently. “Doing what? I’m showing concern for my brother’s well-being. He’s never gotten in a fight a day in his life before this –”

“He definitely has –”

“And now he’s breaking men’s noses at bars? It’s troublesome behavior.” 

“No, it’s just behavior that wasn’t sanctioned by you,” Tyrion pointed out. “He did a nice thing. The bruises will fade and the jackass he punched won’t press charges. The girl he protected will remain nameless and safe from your supposedly protective harassment and fear-mongering. There is nothing for you to worry about.” 

“Who’s worrying?” Jaime’s gruff, sleepy voice asked. He slid into the chair beside Tyrion and surveyed his brother’s furrowed brow, the bruise on his lip ugly and blue. “You?” 

“No one,” Tyrion reassured him. “Isn’t that right, Cersei?” 

Cersei ignored them.

***

“You don’t have to drive me to school,” Arya said, resting her forehead against the passenger side window. “I can walk.” 

Jon ignored her petulant posture and inched forward, closer to the entrance to the school. “I do have to drive you,” he said patiently, “because if I don’t, you apparently skip class.” 

“I skipped first period one time to go get breakfast,” she protested. “It’s not like I’m skipping all day.”

“No, you just purposely dress outside of the dress code so you’ll get sent home –”

“The dress code is patriarchal and stupid –”

“I would believe that this was a feminist protest if you actually liked wearing short skirts,” Jon reasoned. “But you don’t, and all of your normal clothes are, in fact, within dress code. And then you fake sick –”

“I thought I had scarlet fever –”

Jon mercifully moved up another car length and sighed. “Arya, I understand what’s happening, I really do. And I know you don’t like to talk about it –”

“Then don’t –”

“I am working my ass off to keep my job, and every time I have to leave to come get you for something, it makes it harder for me to keep it. If I keep leaving, I will get fired, do you get that?” 

Arya shrugged. “So quit your job. Mom and Dad left us a bunch of money.”

“If I am not fully employed, CPS will take you away from me,” Jon exclaimed. “I can’t just quit!” He moved forward again and put the car in park. “I am doing all that I can to keep you from being sent to Uncle Walder, okay? I just…I need you to help me out a little bit. Do you think you can do that?” 

Arya stared at him and didn’t answer, the mocking glare gone from her gaze. There was something sad there instead, lingering in the lines around her mouth. She clenched her jaw tight and pulled her backpack up from the floor. 

“Love you,” she muttered, pushing the door open and closing it gently behind her.

***

“What’s on the agenda for the day?” Gendry asked, trailing after Arya as she slammed her locker closed and pushed through the crowded hallway. “Ignoring me again? Pretending you can’t hear me? Or will you finally speak?” 

Arya rolled her eyes and kept moving, shouldering her way through the throng of seemingly immovable teenagers. Gendry followed with apparent ease, his backpack slung over his shoulder so effortlessly she suspected it was empty. 

Her homeroom class was at the end of the hallway, and if she could make it there, her aggressively irritable teacher Mr. Clegane would keep Gendry from following her into the classroom. She would forgive him eventually, when she didn’t feel immediately full of rage at the thought of Gendry telling her over-protective sister where she went to blow off some steam. Eventually would not come today.

“Arya, seriously, can you grow up for five seconds?” 

She knew it was just a ploy to get her to respond, but she couldn’t resist playing right into his hands. “Can _you_ grow up for five seconds? Tattle-telling is elementary school level of maturity, Gendry.” 

“She told me you were missing, what was I supposed to do, let her call the cops on you?” Gendry replied, managing to dodge the other students to get in front of her. “Things would have been much worse for you if cops had found you at Jaqen’s place.” 

“She wouldn’t have called the cops because I would’ve been home by the time she got there,” Arya argued. “I had a plan.” 

“Really? Because when we got there, it looked like your only plan was getting put in a headlock by a thirty-year-old dude who wears an eyepatch and works in an aluminum crushing plant.” 

“God, I am so sick of everyone butting into my business and telling me what to do!” 

“Miss Stark, can the shouting in the hallways!” Mr. Clegane snapped from his post at the door. “Bell rings in two minutes, get it together.” 

“Yes, sir,” she muttered. 

Gendry crossed his arms. “I’m not trying to get in your business. I was…” he trailed off, his eyes searching the motivational posters on the wall for a way to finish the sentence. “I was just doing what I thought was right, to protect you and your family, and if you can’t understand that, then – then I guess talk to me when you do.” 

He didn’t look back when he walked away, and Arya watched him go, suddenly rooted in place, her pulse thundering in her ears, her throat tight. When the bell rang, she solemnly trudged into her homeroom class and sat in the back row, scratching at the desk with her long thumb nail. 

Mr. Clegane watched her while the rest of the class worked on homework they should have finished the night before, and when the bell rang, signaling the end of class, he stopped her before she could duck out. 

“You alright?” he asked, his voice gruff and unaccustomed to asking personal questions. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, pulling her backpack higher on her shoulder. 

“Liar,” he replied. “Here, sit.” 

“I have to get to class.” 

“I don’t care about where you have to go, shrimp, sit down,” he jerked his head toward the chair and shut the door. At her surprised look, he added, “I’ll write you a pass. Happy?” 

“What do you want?” she asked. 

“Look, I’m not a moron, so I’ve heard about…” he motioned to everything, “your family problems and the fact that you’ve been acting out in class –”

“Can we not talk about this?” she asked. “Like ever?” 

“I’m not going to give you a sappy speech, but I am going to give you a detention if you interrupt me again, got it?” 

She glared at him, but shrugged, and he took it as a cue to keep going. 

“My parents are dead,” he began gracelessly. She flinched at his voice, but he pressed forward. “My brother and I don’t get along. But your brother and your sister have been trying really hard to make it work with you, and they have other things going on in their lives. They didn’t sign up to be parents, but they’re trying to be, for you. That’s really selfless of them. So it’s really shitty of you to be treating them like this when they’re sacrificing the best years of their lives to make sure you’re safe.” 

“You don’t know anything –”

“I thought I told you not to interrupt me,” he snapped. “I’m not asking you to pretend to be okay. I’m just asking you to think about them before you decide to act like a dick, _which you are,_ ” he added in a rush when she opened her mouth to protest. “And if you tell anyone I talked to you like this, I’ll hack into the grade system and give you straight Fs, got it?” 

She didn’t answer but grabbed her backpack and stormed out of the room, not bothering to wait for a pass. 

***

Brienne was an hour into writing a paper for her government class when her phone buzzed, the vibration rattling the phone on the top of the table until it fell into her lap. She stared at the display, puzzled, and pressed the green button. 

“Hello?” 

“Is this Brienne?” a man’s voice asked. 

“Yeah,” she replied cautiously. “Who is this?” 

“This is Jon…Stark,” he said. “I am Arya’s brother.” 

Brienne smiled, recognizing the sound of nerves in his voice. “It’s nice to meet you, Jon, how can I help you?” 

He huffed what sounded like a relieved sigh into the phone. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about Arya.” 

“Of course you can.” 

“Is she…okay?” he asked, the question soft and delicate and Brienne’s heart ached for him. “I just want to make sure she’s okay, because she doesn’t tell me anything and every time I try to talk to her, she just gets angry and I feel like we take a million steps back, you know?” 

“Arya is…angry,” Brienne said carefully. “But she’s always been very hardworking and she is a really good kid. She will be okay, it’ll just take a while.” 

On the other side of the line, Jon went quiet, and Brienne let the silence stretch longer than she was comfortable, unsure of what to say next. She didn’t want to make things worse and tell Jon something that would upset him, but it seemed like nothing she said was going to make him feel better. 

“I just want my family to stay together,” he said finally, his breath shuddering over the phone. Brienne nodded but didn’t speak. “And I want them to be happy.” 

Brienne felt her face start to flush with what she recognized as second-hand embarrassment. Jon was crying, _really crying,_ over the phone with a veritable stranger. She couldn’t imagine doing something like that without feeling horrible about herself. But, she reasoned, Jon didn’t have many people to talk to. He was stuck working all day, parenting in all of his free time. 

“Hey, Jon,” she said before she could talk herself out of it. “Me and my friends usually go out to the bar on Friday nights. We had to find a new one because…well, because of some drama that went down with some idiot. This new place is called Highgarden. You should meet us there.” 

“Highgarden?” Jon asked, a sniff at the edge of his voice. “I think I’ve heard of that place.” 

“It’s a little trendy, but my roommate says it’s nice,” Brienne reasoned. “I’ll text you the address.” 

She could hear Jon hesitate, struggle with deciding to do something fun instead of something that would be more characteristic of a responsible parent. She understood that feeling. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said finally, and Brienne smiled again. “I’ll see you there.” 

***

“You know,” Margaery began, poking at her half-finished poke bowl with her chopsticks. “I like this tradition we have, eating lunch together every day.” 

Sansa, her long, red hair pulled back in a ponytail, nodded happily, her mouth full of food. Margaery smiled at her, the same smile she could never seem to hide when Sansa was around. Something about the girl made her feel…giddy was probably the only word that really fit the fluttering in her chest. Sansa’s presence made her want to do reckless things and have adventures, to really live her life. 

Margaery, by nature, was a cautious person. Perhaps she had become that way in the time she spent with her pragmatic grandmother, or maybe it was because her brother, Loras, was reckless and hotheaded and she wanted to be able to protect him from himself. But with Sansa around, all of that carefully-held caution was in danger. 

She wanted to do something, _something_ to impress her. 

Sansa, her bite of chicken nugget swallowed, finally spoke. “I know it sounds kind of sad, but with my sister and brother drama, I never really bothered to try to make friends here. I just assumed my family would be my friends.” 

Oh, Margaery wanted to take her hand whenever she talked about her family. The story was achingly sad and still so raw; still, she held tightly to her chopsticks. It wouldn’t do to jump the gun. 

“But I’m really glad I met you and your friends.” 

“They’re your friends too, Sansa,” Margaery gently corrected. 

Sansa ducked her head, as if saying that she had friends was just a little too much to bear. Margaery watched her pensively poke at another chicken nugget before she spoke again. 

“I was wondering…” Margaery said, suddenly realizing that her giddiness had shifted into nerves. “Um, Friday we usually go out…but I was hoping maybe you’d like to…maybe go out to dinner with me instead?” 

Sansa beamed at her, her eyes shining with delight. “Oh, yes! A best friend dinner, that would be so lovely!” 

Best friend.

Margaery cleared her throat awkwardly. “Yeah, sure, a best friend dinner.” 

“Oh, was I not supposed to say best friend?” Sansa asked, her cheekbones flushing pink. “I’m sorry, was that weird? Or too soon?” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Margaery reassured her, slipping her hand over Sansa’s arm. “Best friend dinner it is.”

***

Jaime arrived at the gym earlier than he intended, his anticipation for his first sparring match with Brienne making it impossible to just sit at home and wait for the right time. He worried his lip between his teeth, wincing when he caught the barely healed scab and shifted in his seat, trying to settle himself. To avoid being accidentally spotted by her when she came in, he had immediately hid in the men’s locker room. And he would wait there until it was exactly 5 p.m. Then he would come out and pretend he’d just gotten there. 

He looked down at himself, hoping he had dressed appropriately for the occasion. He knew she taught kickboxing, and he knew his limited amount of MMA. His sleeveless shirt was loose and comfortable but not so loose he’d get tangled in it, and his shorts were a dark, navy blue. He found himself drawn more and more to shades of blue when he thought about Brienne, the color of her eyes always at the forefront. 

“Oi, Lannister, fancy seeing you here,” Tormund’s voice was loud, boisterous, but at least it was friendly. “I hardly ever see people I know here and then, days like today, I see two.” 

“Two?” Jaime asked. 

“Brienne,” Tormund said nonchalantly, and Jaime was relieved to note that he was no longer calling her ‘the big woman.’ “She got here like…fifteen minutes ago. Did a couple of circuits.” 

She’d already been here when he got in? Suddenly, there was no reason to pretend to be coy. Jaime jumped up and grabbed his bottle of water and a towel, slapping Tormund on the back gratefully as he exited.

“It was nice to see you, too!” Tormund replied sarcastically. 

She was already wrapping her fingers with tape when he found her, her face flushed from exertion. She was…magnetic, her eyes carefully watching her hands work, her chalk-dusted hands, callused and strong. Jaime lingered just outside of her immediate vicinity, unwilling to interrupt her. This was the most at-ease he’d ever seen her. He didn’t want to ruin it. 

“I know you’re there, Lannister,” she said quietly, her voice just a little rougher than it had been last time they spoke, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Don’t just stand there. Wrap your hands.” 

***

She had felt him approach, as if she had been expecting him. She had seen him come in, a full (she had checked her watch) twenty minutes early. Something about that was endearing and a little nerve-wracking, but she didn’t stop in her bicep curls to analyze what exactly that something was. Instead, she kept her eye on the locker room door from her spot in front of the mirror, and the longer he was in there, the more she worried. 

Was he going to leave? Did he realize he didn’t want to be there? Was he just coming to make fun of her? 

But then there he was, weaving through the machines like a puppy to a treat, and she had to busy herself doing something, anything, so she wouldn’t have to watch him. 

When he stood there for too long (what could he _possibly_ be looking at?) she told him to wrap his hands, knowing that the activity would at least keep him busy. And it did; she had the opportunity to watch him now. Finally she could take in the loose, sleeveless shirt that exposed far more of his toned arms than she needed to see (that would be a focus problem) and his shorts that were, somehow, her exact favorite color. 

His shoes were old and worn, and that alone told her that he was athletic on a regular basis, not just asking to spar with her to fulfill some weird carnival sideshow experience or something. She was reassured by his appearance, by his slightly disheveled hair and the scab on his lip, still healing. 

“You said you knew some mixed martial arts, right?” she asked after a long bout of silence. He nodded at her. “Your punches were pretty good, if I remember correctly.” That was obviously subterfuge; she remembered exactly what his punches looked like – they were reckless, and he had been lucky to hit Ben in exactly the right spot.

“I got lucky,” he said, and Brienne had to clench her jaw to keep from smiling. “I was always better at grappling than punching.” 

“Unfortunately,” she pointed out, “if you’re planning on getting into more bar fights, you’re going to need more confidence in that jab.” 

“Well, as long as men aren’t planning on manhandling you at bars, I can safely say I’ll retire from my job as terrible bodyguard,” he said, so nonchalantly that Brienne didn’t quite understand the implication of what he said. “Besides, you can take care of yourself.” 

“I can,” she agreed.

He smiled at her then, the grin an unexpected, unplanned thing, a bit like his punches, but he looked immensely pleased at her response. Brienne didn’t know what to make of that, so she let it slide. 

“I booked one of the more private rooms for our Thursday sparring sessions,” she said, Jaime following behind her as she crossed through the racks of weights to the left side of the gym. “I figured you wouldn’t want to be seen fighting me.” 

“I’d _love_ to be seen fighting you,” he blurted out, and then immediately added, “I mean, I…I don’t mind if people see.” 

She felt her cheeks flush again and thanked god that he couldn’t see her face from there. 

“I teach kickboxing but I did learn krav maga when I was young and then traditional boxing later, in high school,” she continued. “So we can spar a little and then see what we can teach each other. How does that sound?” 

“That sounds like a plan,” Jaime said, his eyes finding hers in the split second she glanced back at him. “Let’s do it.” 

***

She was much better a fighter than she gave herself credit for. After only a couple of minutes, he wasn’t sure why she even bothered with the façade of them teaching each other anything – she was clearly superior. But, even in her superiority, she was insecure, or nervous, and that put them on an almost even footing. 

“You don’t have to go easy on me,” he said, and her eyes, locked on his hands, watching for his next move, jumped up to his. “Show me what you’ve got.” 

She grinned, a predatory smile, and pushed her short hair out of her eyes with the knuckles of her fingerless boxing gloves. “You sure you want that, Lannister?” 

Yes, _yes,_ he dearly wanted that. He laughed to hide the color that rose in his cheeks and lunged, almost catching Brienne by the wrist in the process. She slapped his hands away, a laugh almost escaping her, and ducked, sweeping his feet out from under him. He landed, hard, on the mat, and before he could even register that he wasn’t standing anymore, she had him pinned, one arm uncomfortably above his head and her knee pressed oppressively into his chest. 

“Tap out,” she said, just slightly out of breath. 

“Never,” he panted, even though there was no way he could get out of the position she had him in. “I never admit defeat.” 

She shifted, lifting her knee off of his chest, and he took the opportunity to try to get off the mat, playing right into her hands. Immediately, he was in a headlock, one arm up and the other pinned against her leg. She wasn’t adding any pressure, but he still flailed his arm, trying to get her to let go. He managed to barely touch the back of her neck, his wrist straining painfully to find any skin, and at his touch, she instinctively tightened her hold around his neck. 

“Tap out,” she said, her voice quiet and hoarse, just above his ear. 

Wow, he definitely wanted her to talk into his ear like that when she wasn’t slowly cutting off his supply of air. He lifted his other, free hand, and grabbed onto her bicep, trying to lift himself high enough to get more air. She allowed him to do it, her breath soft and fluttering near his ear. Was he imagining it, or was she a little more breathless than she had been a moment before? 

He needed to see her face. He tapped her gently on the arm and she immediately released him, dropping him onto the mat. He turned to find her gaze, her eyes intent and even bluer than usual. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, her face flushed with concern.

“I’m fine, wench,” he said with a laugh. “You’re good.” 

“So are you,” she said, turning away from him to take a drink of water. 

“Liar,” he joked. “I’m average.” 

“You just need to focus,” Brienne pointed out. “Once you do, it’ll be a really good match.” 

“Yeah, I imagine it will,” he said softly, and this time he caught her bashful smile before she turned away to hide it. 

“Hey, a bunch of us are going to go to that bar, Highgarden, tomorrow,” she said once the silence had gotten oppressive. “Sansa told Tyrion earlier but I wanted to make sure you knew.” 

“You want me to come?” he asked, and he sounded so hopeful and ridiculous that he immediately wanted to take it back so he could play it cooler. He was…bad at this. 

“As long as you promise not to start another fight,” she smirked, and without worrying if he sounded cool or desirable, Jaime agreed.


End file.
